The Cost of Life
by Laerthel
Summary: Little Elrond killing his first foe on his way to Himring; and also the first (and clumsiest) attempt of Maedhros as a stepfather.


The cost of life

"Behind me, BEHIND ME you wretched fool! Quickly, go on, go on, GO ON, this is no bloody summer trip, this is _war!_"

Maedhros slew an Orc even while drawing his sword. His motions were surnaturally fast, faster than any warrior's Elrond had ever heard of. One-handed, he possessed the strength of five men and the wits of ten. And he was tall; he towered above everyone, save giants. Elrond had never seen any giants, to be sure.

It all happened so quickly he hardly saw anything. Their enemies circled them but they were too few, too weak, too slow. Maedhros had already cut down the half of them when Maglor arrived, lance in one hand, longsword in the other. Their horses were trotting dutifully after him, with Elros glancing suspiciously at the pack of dead Orcs.

"It can't be this easy," he managed when the killing was done. "There must be more of them."

"Here's a clever lad," Maglor nodded. "Remember those itching arrows from yesterday? They must have archers between them, and many. We'd best camp deep in the woods tonight."

"Then let's go at once," Maedhros said, wiping his hand with mild disgust. "My cloak is dirty enough without more Orc's entrails sticked to it."

"I didn't want to say it out loud, brother, but I must agree" Maglor grinned. "Elros, do you see the little one from up there?"

"I don't," Elrond heard the confused voice of his brother. "He must have hidden behind some bush."

"If we lose him now...," Maedhros groaned angrily, but Elrond jumped up immediately. He knew he would never find them if they went on without him.

_I'm here,_ he wanted to shout, but the words never left his lips. Hard, dirty hand curled around her waist, another one stuck to his mouth, making his lungs fight for air.

At least one Orc could survive the sudden attack; a ragged, foul creature with sharp teeth and evil red eyes. Elrond had been never granted before with the opportunity of observing an Orc this closely; to his great dismay, he had to realise that tales spoke the plain truth about their roughness and brutality. The Orc pulled him to the ground, stretching his muscles until they ached so wildly it made him want to vomit.

The Orc was still smaller than him, however. Suddenly its other hand slipped off his mouth; as Elrond could finally breath, he found himself shouting the first name that came to his mind.

"MAEDHROS!"

Maybe he was shouting for him because he saw him fighting, maybe it was his last glimpse of a red flower that made him cry the name; he could never know. He cried for Maedhros and Maedhros came, whilst his brother jumped back to calm down the horses.

He pushed back the Orc with one strike; another one slipped down its shoulder and made its blood darken the thick green grass. The Orc fell to its knees and made a terrible howling sound, but stayed alive. Maedhros had no place to strike again; they moved too close to a cliff that towered above them like some milestone of giants.

Elrond found himself arise before he could think. Quick as a snake, he slid Maedhros's dagger from his swordbelt, then jumped ahead and jerked the dagger, with all its length, inside the creature's belly. The Orc roared like some savage beast and as Elrond stepped back with disgust, the dagger slipped out from the wound and fell clanging between him and his enemy.

"Good," Maedhros said, "and now kill it."

The evil red light in the Orc's eyes was fading away.

"He will be dead soon," Elrond heard himself saying. "There's no use..."

"There _is_. Be quick about it."

Elrond reached for the dagger, then pictured the whimpering, bloody creature in front of him.

"I can't..."

"For the sake of the Three Jewels, be done with it! Don't let this monster whine and howl along for hours, telling all its wretched kin where we are hiding! Cut the head off, and quickly."

"But he'll be dead in minutes..."

"Do as I commanded! And an Orc is no_ he_. These creatures are the making of Morgoth the Thief. Remember that, child."

Every passing second seemed like an hour, as Elrond lifted the dagger and stroke with all his strength. The blade cut the Orc's neck deeply. Muscles, nerves, ragged meat and pale bones showed up with a horrible splashing noise, black blood ran down to the boy's knees like a foul river. The creature made a whimpering sound, its eyes rolling endlessly, its mouth shaking. Elrond jumped away, retching up his breakfast. Maedhros grabbed his shoulder and turned him to face his dying enemy.

"Again. Now harder."

"I won't..."

There were tears in his eyes. Maedhros studied him angrily.

"Wery well. Be gone, than. Grow to a whimpering little fool if you like, but you'll never be a warrior."

"I'll be a warrior who kills only when he _has to_" Elrond sobbed.

Maedhros watched him for a while, cold black eyes reading the boy's heart.

"I had a friend who was thrice as skilled with sword as I" he finally said. "We were all certain he would make a splendid knight, even a hero. Then we left the Undying Lands and climbed through the Mountains, we fought battles and killed Orcs... I saw him driving off his first foe, knocking him to his knees, jerking the sword out of his hand. He won the _fight_. But when he had to _kill_, he flinched. He hesitated for half a heartbeat... and in battle, half a heartbeat means all our endless lives. He chose to die. And you will die too."

Little Elrond wiped away his tears with the back of his hand, eyes widening. All of a sudden he felt no fear. He felt nothing but rage.

"_I will not_," he said, his hand clutching the dagger. He seized the blade and stroke again. The Orc's head fell clumsily from its neck, and rolled to Maedhros's feet.

"I will not," Elrond repeated. "I choose to live."


End file.
